


Better Alternatives to Holiday Traditions

by orphan_account



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Friendship, Heavily Implied Cannibalism, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-26
Updated: 2013-12-26
Packaged: 2018-01-06 05:05:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1102758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will buys Christmas presents when upset.  It might not be such a bad habit after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Better Alternatives to Holiday Traditions

**Author's Note:**

> To my wonderful friends, Skyy and Blondie, who never fail to peer pressure me into writing, and to anyone else who likes their holiday season to be filled with background homicide and meals of dubious origin. Merry Christmas!

“Any of you got plans for the holidays?”

 

Beverly’s question was rendered inappropriate by the fact her entire hand was inside a corpse when she asked it, but Will had grown used to this sort of thing in the lab. By now, it was routine.  As Jack’s best team of scientists exchanged jibes at rapid speed, he sat apart from them, offering the occasional sinister remark.  

 

Today, the world was white.  The team’s lab coats glowed, almost blindingly, under fluorescent bulbs.  Outside, pristine snow rapidly obscured the dingy grass beneath, bathing the world in a false glaze of purity.  Will, in dark flannel, felt like a stain.  Katz’s question threw him further off-balance; the holidays only aggravated his feeling that he was out-of-place.  He allowed the others to speak before him, hoping to be forgotten altogether.

 

Zeller didn’t even try to make his smile appear sincere. “Flying out to see my family.  Should be as miserable an experience as it is every year.”

 

“Oh, come on, how bad can they be?” Price asked, too cheerful for a man examining a severed arm.  It had been uncovered several feet away from the rest of the body in a pool of blood.  The festive combination of red with the white snow was the closest to Christmas decorations Will had gotten this year.

 

Zeller raised an eyebrow.  “This from the man who complained about his aunt the entirety of last New Year’s?”

 

“Which was entirely deserved.  She was drunk by 3 PM Christmas Eve.”

 

“Runs in the family, then.”

 

Price made a noise of mock offense. “Absolutely not.  Having self-control, I waited until five.”

 

Katz simply shook her head, turning her attention to where Will hid in the shadows.  “What about you?”

 

So much for being forgotten.  “I don’t really have any holiday traditions.”  This was actually untrue.  For years Will had cherished the ritual of buying presents he was too self-conscious to deliver, then spending the day drinking alone.  He figured that wasn’t quite what she was looking for.

 

Luckily, Beverly accepted his statement, giving him a small smile he failed to return.  “If I wasn’t going out of town, I’d invite you over.”  She paused, finally removing her hand from the dead body before adding, “Hey, there’s an idea—find everyone else with nothing to do on Christmas.  Make it a party.”

 

Now Will found it in him to smile, but only in self-deprecation.  “I’ll have to consult my limitless social circle.”

 

Beverly didn’t try to correct him, just shook her head as she turned her attention to a new area of the corpse.  “Still, find something to do.  Thinking about you alone over the holidays is depressing.”

 

“You could always try getting drunk,” Price offered.  Will knew better than to mention how accurately the man had summed up his Christmas plans.

 

Price’s words earned further taunting from Zeller, thankfully turning the conversation away from Will.  But Katz’s words got to him, embedding themselves under his skin and crawling around like insects.  The wool sweater he’d donned to fight the cold seemed rough and scratchy against his skin.  He felt himself begin to sweat.

 

_Thinking about you alone over the holidays is depressing_.  Images of the various social mishaps that had led him to repeated Christmases alone polluted his mind until he thought of nothing else.  Will did not typically resent his solitude.  Living alone was a needed respite from other people’s overwhelming emotions and social expectations.   But sometimes…

 

He ran a hand through his hair, disturbing the curls that clung to damp skin.  This wasn’t what he wanted to think about at all. 

 

He hadn’t realized his anxiety had manifested externally until Beverly asked, “You okay there?”

 

Will stood up too fast, head spinning.  His chair slid on the floor with a piercing sound, like a scream.  “I’m fine.  Just remembered…something I need to do.”

 

Seemingly amused, Zeller asked, “Last-minute shopping?”

 

The taunting conjecture was far too accurate.  Will pulled on his winter gear, the hat trapping his bangs on his clammy forehead.  He felt a headache developing.  “Yeah, something like that.”

 

\---

 

Will ended up in his car, hands too glued to the steering wheel to change the radio station and end the ceaseless blaring of Christmas music.   How he’d begun listening to holiday songs he couldn’t recall, but he’d take Mariah Carey over his own overactive mind. 

 

He was upset.  And when he was upset, the uncontrollable urge to make unwise purchases overcame him.  Even an awareness of this fatal flaw could not stop it.

 

As Will drove, his mind wandered.  His list of potential gift recipients was incredibly small.  He already had an ill-advised present for Abigail wrapped and abandoned in his living room.  As for Alana, he’d purchased a book for her months ago, only to back out and hide it away in his shelves.  Only one person remained.

 

Dr. Lecter might ask him probing questions, but wouldn’t mock whatever unwise purchase Will made.  And there was nothing unacceptable in buying him a Christmas present, was there?  They were…friends, as the other man said. And Will, despite lacking social graces, was perceptive enough—he knew Dr. Lecter had an appreciation for him that extended beyond the professional. But as for a gift, he found himself at a loss.

 

Dr. Lecter was human—he had to be—but Will sometimes struggled to believe it.  The man seemed permanently composed, a public persona that ran to the bone.  Will would doubt he required food or sleep had he not witnessed him partake in both.  And as for other needs…well.  He couldn’t imagine Dr. Lecter having sex.  Will imagined that if Dr. Lecter took off his suit there would just be another underneath, fabric instead of flesh.

 

It wasn’t true, of course.  Underneath his clothes, even Dr. Lecter was naked.  And beneath the face he presented each day there had to be something more.

 

Will reached over to turn the radio up.  He had to stop thinking so much.

 

\---

 

Four hours later, Will found himself outside Dr. Lecter’s door in a state of intense regret.

 

Part of him knew his worries were unjustified.  Dr. Lecter had made it clear that Will was always welcome in his kitchen, then switched to blatant invitation.  Sometimes, when their conversations ended, he’d ask Will to stay for dinner.  When Will inevitably refused, he tried to lure him with ridiculously complicated French dishes or the casual mention there would be no other company.  Will was smart enough to know when someone was showing off.  He just didn’t understand why.  Grandiose gestures of friendship were hardly necessary; there was little competition for his time.  He supposed it was the other man’s nature.

 

But he doubted Dr. Lecter had envisioned Will arriving at his home unannounced, clutching a too-cheap bottle of wine in one hand.  Will had bought it in a moment of desperation, finding nothing else the other man could possibly want.  The time between that decision and ending up outside Dr. Lecter’s door was a bit of a blur.

 

When half a minute passed after his knock with no sign of Dr. Lecter, the regret set in.  It was _Christmas Eve_ , the man probably had _plans_. Will didn’t think he had any family to visit, so he probably spent the holidays entertaining, as he so often did.  To show up now would be…an imposition.  Will contemplated returning home to drink the wine himself.

 

Before he could retreat, the door swung open at last to reveal Dr. Lecter, his jacket off and sleeves rolled up to the elbows, an apron around his waist.  A contrast to the image of a diligent chef was the half-empty glass of wine he held in one hand.  “Will.  I wasn’t expecting you.”  A rare hint surprise crossed his face, but was quickly extinguished.  “Are you alright?”

 

Will then realized how he appeared: lost and a little sweaty. Unstable.  No wonder Dr. Lecter assumed he was having an episode.  He ran his free hand over his face, suddenly aware of his overgrown stubble and chapped lips.  “I’m fine. I just…”  He presented the wine bottle as explanation.  “I brought you this, I don’t know.  I didn’t think you might be busy—”

 

Perhaps mercifully, Dr. Lecter cut him off.  “It’s alright, Will.  Thank you.”  He accepted the wine without a hint of disdain, even though he surely noticed the unworthy brand.  Will knew it would not be served to future dinner guests.

 

“I hope I’m not…interrupting.”

 

“Not at all.”  Dr. Lecter stepped aside, clearing a path for Will to enter through.  “Please, come in.  My home is always open to you.”

 

 “Even on Christmas Eve?” Will still expected to find a dinner party in progress, but as he stepped inside he found the house normal.  _Normal_ , of course, meant immaculately clean down to the angle of the furniture. Soft classical music played in the background; no holiday carols for Dr. Lecter.

 

“I have no other plans.”  Will didn’t hide his surprise well, and the other man’s mouth quirked in amusement.  “I don’t spend night throwing lavish parties, you know.”

 

Will managed only a nod in response.  Hannibal  Lecter was as alone on Christmas that he was.  Not sure what to do with this information, Will let it settle into his mind and fester there.  It rapidly became a distraction.

 

Despite his silence, Dr. Lecter pressed on.  “Would you like to join me for dinner?  I’m afraid I only cooked for one, but that can be easily remedied with smaller portions.”

 

Of course he’d arrived just as the man was sitting down to eat.  He’d never had much luck with timing. “I wouldn’t want to…impose.”

 

“Not at all.  Less food is worth the excellent company.”

 

Will surprised himself with a laugh, a quick, harsh sound that rang unexpected in Dr. Lecter’s entryway.  “You might want to rethink your standards for excellence.”

 

In his peripheral vision, he caught sight of Hannibal’s eyes on him, but didn’t dare turn for a better look.  Will wasn’t sure what he’d see if he made contact.  He examined the carpeting instead, until Dr. Lecter mercifully looked away, leading him to the dining room without another word.

 

Once seated, he awaited the meal in the state of mild agitation that had newly blossomed upon seeing Hannibal in unofficial contexts.  Will thought it was frustration, for the closer he got, the less he truly understood.  He tried to imagine Hannibal eating meals in his pajamas, staying in bed all day to watch bad television.  It was impossible.  But surely , like anyone, he’d grown too sick to drag himself out of bed on occasion and done just that.  While struggling to accept Hannibal’s humanity, Will actively avoided the implications of his fascination with wanting to remove the three-piece suit and see what was underneath.  Metaphorically, of course.

 

Mostly metaphorically.

 

These were not appropriate thoughts for the dinner table.

 

Thankfully, the man in question arrived before Will could think any further, presenting a plate like a work of art. “I have for you a simple chateaubriand with béarnaise sauce.  I think you’ll find it fresh enough for your liking.”

 

Will mumbled a _thanks_ , eager to eat and avoid discussion.  They remained in silence but for the gentle scraping of silverware on plates.  Although quiet, it was far from relaxing.  Hannibal kept glancing at him from across the table, unwavering even when caught looking.  Will’s skin prickled, his sweater too warm once again. 

 

At last, Hannibal spoke.  “Did something disturb you, or should I simply feel honored?”

 

 “What?”

 

“The present, Will.”  He paused to take a sip of wine, nearly draining the glass.  He did not hesitate to refill.  Perhaps Dr. Lecter enjoyed similar holiday traditions of alcohol consumption.  “You mentioned you often buy them when upset.  I was curious as to your motivation tonight.”

 

Will swallowed, throat drier than a moment before.  “I didn’t realize I’d come here for a session, Dr. Lecter.”

 

“Not at all.  I’m simply making conversation.”

 

The incredulous look Will sent across the table earned only a small smile in return.  He shifted in his ornate dining chair, hoping physical comfort would ease his restless mind.  “Beverly Katz asked me about holiday traditions.  She became upset when I told her I’d be spending Christmas alone.”

 

Hannibal made a sound of acknowledgement, lifting his fork to his lips with more grace than Will had entirely sober.  “And were you upset by her emotions or by the ones they awakened in you?”

 

“Are you asking if I realized I’m…lonely on Christmas?”

 

“Yes.”  There was a refreshing quality to Hannibal’s bluntness that Will savored with every additional conversation.

 

He cut his meat into increasingly smaller slices, a blatantly nervous gesture the other man was courteous enough not to point out.  “Then…yes.  I realized I don’t even have any traditions, unless you count drinking by myself.”

 

“A perfectly acceptable holiday ritual.”  Hannibal sipped his wine as if to make a point. “Though perhaps you ‘ll find you prefer  company.”

 

Will felt Hannibal’s eyes on him, but still refused to meet his gaze.  So it was more to the table than the man that he said, “Maybe I will.”

 

Hannibal simply nodded in response, and they soon fell back into silence.  It wasn’t until halfway through the second course that the other man spoke again.

 

“I must admit, I am curious about one thing.”

 

Will couldn’t help but ask, “Just one?”

 

“Just one for the moment.”  Hannibal didn’t seem offended by his sharp reply, only once again amused.  “How does gift-giving ease your nerves?  I would think holiday shopping would worsen them.”

 

“It doesn’t, really, I—” Will paused, considering the implications of Hannibal’s words.  “You do a lot of holiday shopping, Dr. Lecter?”

 

Of all the uncharacteristic situations he imagined for Hannibal, this one was the best:  the sophisticated physiatrist in his usual three-piece suit amid sweaty shoppers wrapped in neon parkas who tracked slush from their boots across the floor.  Children wailing for the desired toys, patrons pushing to get further ahead in line, tired Christmas songs crooning over the speakers—for someone like Hannibal, it would be, essentially, hell.

 

Will hadn’t realized he’d actually laughed at the idea until the real Hannibal asked, “Something amusing?”

 

He made an effort to suppress his grin.  “No, sorry.  I just…can’t picture you in a mall.”

 

 “Understandable.  I don’t shop at them.  Though just yesterday I attended one as a form of…inspiration.”

 

Will couldn’t imagine what a crowded shopping center might inspire besides the urge to take an extra aspirin.  “Inspiration?”

 

Hannibal nodded.  “I wanted to cook a new dish for the holiday.  I often find an unusual environment beneficial in fostering my creativity, even if all those I encounter are…”  His lips formed a smile not quite genuine, as though sharing a wry joke only with himself. “…Terribly rude.”

 

Will couldn’t help but laugh again.  His mental image of an incredulous Dr. Lecter trapped at the heart of consumerism was accurate after all.  “If this is the kind of food you make while people-watching the rude, maybe you should do it more often.”

 

The smile didn’t fade as Hannibal sipped his wine.  “Oh,” he said, “I go often enough.”

 

 

\---

 

Will had planned on politely excusing himself after dinner, but guilt attacked at the sight of the dishes piled high in the still-immaculate kitchen.  Hannibal, however, refused his offer of help.  His guests had no need to assist in the cleanup, he said, and had made quick work of the chore himself.

 

Hannibal had then offered him a glass of the wine he’d brought, probably hoping to drink it soon lest its cheap nature somehow grow infectious, and Will found himself unable to refuse.

 

The pair of them made a cliché holiday scene, in separate armchairs by the fire as snow continued to fall beyond the windowpanes.  At night, Dr. Lecter’s house was full of shadows, especially with only the firelight flickering across their faces.  Will preferred it to harsh light.  He no longer felt so out of place.

 

Hannibal sipped the cheap wine as easily as he had the expensive bottle at dinner.  He still wore the suit, though a few stray pieces of hair fell over his forehead, gentling the angles of his face.  Will was sure the other man must have been at least mildly drunk, but it showed only in a minute softening of his usual expression.  Some of the professionalism had slipped.  Like the removal of a mask.

 

 Will itched to peel it off the rest of the way.  He wouldn’t, though—he couldn’t.  Not when he wasn’t even sure where it ended and a more human Hannibal Lecter began.

 

“You’re staring,” Hannibal observed, turning his attention to Will, who averted his gaze to focus instead on the crackling flames.  Sensing his discomfort, Hannibal asked, “Lost in your thoughts?”

 

Will nodded, grappling for a justification before the inevitable next inquiry.  It never came.  Instead, there was a pause as Hannibal regarded his glass almost thoughtfully.

 

“I have enjoyed your company tonight, Will,” he said at last.  He had yet to look away; Will pretended not to notice.  “Perhaps you would join me next year as well.  Though I’d prefer if you called ahead.  My dinners are far less enjoyable without the show beforehand.”

 

_Find everyone else with nothing to do on Christmas_ , Bev had said, _make it a party_.  To his surprise, Will realized he’d actually followed her instructions.  Despite himself, he felt a genuine smile creep its way onto his face.  “If the invitation is still open in a year, I’d like that.”

 

“My dear Will, the invitation will always be open.”  The hint of warmth in Hannibal’s voice caught him off guard.  Will glanced over to meet his gaze, the split second of eye contact leaving him with a single impression.  He saw, but struggled to believe.  There was…affection there, maybe.  It was no smoldering glance between fated lovers, but it was something.  It was potential.

 

It was both frightening and enough to make his entire body feel as though it had been tossed into the flames. 

 

They didn’t speak.  Will resisted the urge to get drunk, and instead grew overwhelmed by the feelings churning inside him.  He had never dared consider Dr. Lecter from a romantic angle.  Sometimes he imagined his hands removing the very literal suit only to find layers of unsurpassable fabric, but it stopped there.  He made it stop there.  Or so he had, until now.  His mind reeled from the onslaught of unearthed emotions.

 

Minutes had passed, or maybe hours, when Hannibal said, “It has grown late.  You may stay, if you wish.”

 

There was no suggestion in his tone; it was not a sexual invitation.  Will imagined the outcome if it had been.  He got no further than a hand on Hannibal’s face, stroking its contours, the other drifting down to undo the complicated knot of his tie.  The same imagination that conjured up twisted horrors of homicide was daunted by something as simple as pleasure.  But with Hannibal, was it really that simple?

 

Shit.  He had to stop this line of thought.

 

“I…should really go.”  Of all the potential explanations, he spat out, “I need to feed my dogs.”

 

 Hannibal didn’t comment on weakness of the excuse.  “I do hope you’ll drive safely.  I imagine road conditions are rather poor.”

 

It was a second, but veiled, invitation to stay the night. Easily accepted or ignored. He chose to ignore. “I’ll be alright.”  Thankful, now, that he hadn’t had much to drink, Will stood up to leave, unsurprised when Hannibal accompanied him.  Always the polite host.

 

He had already opened the door when Hannibal spoke.  “Merry Christmas, Will.  It’s past midnight now, after all.”

 

So it had been hours.  “Merry Christmas, Dr. Lecter.”  The title felt clumsy on Will’s lips after thoughts of undressing him.

 

Of course, Hannibal noticed. “This is not a professional setting, Will.  If you’d like you are free to use my first name.”

 

It was a simple request, yet Will felt as though he was plunging into the unknown territory when he said, “Merry Christmas, Hannibal.”  He savored the way it felt, a thrilling unfamiliarity, and before he realized it he’d lingered too long to be socially acceptable.  Will saw himself at a crossroads.  He could choose to flee, or he could…

 

Make a spur-of-the-moment, ill-advised decision.  Acting purely on impulse, he leaned forward, placed a gentle hand on Hannibal’s face, and pressed their lips together.  When the other man returned the kiss, he wasn’t sure if he was thankful or frightened by the implications.

 

Hannibal pulled away after a moment, and Will detected both pleasure and confusion beneath the impassive front.  “Will—”

 

Will shook his head.  He didn’t know what would follow, but he knew he couldn’t handle it.  Not now.  “We can talk about that…extremely unprofessional display tomorrow.”  Deciding it was a possibly-inappropriate topic for Christmas, he added, “Or the day after.”

 

Hannibal was staring again, but Will didn’t dare reciprocate, knowing he wouldn’t leave the house that evening if he did.  Instead, he simply ran his thumb over Hannibal’s cheek.  Will wanted to draw him close, to somehow tear the skin of his mask away and expose the complete man underneath.  He’d seen more tonight, he thought.  Hannibal Lecter tipsy and alone on Christmas, or standing in line at a crowded shopping mall.  Maybe soon he could picture him naked.  Experience could help.

 

He pulled away before the thoughts could grow too detailed.  His heart was pounding fast enough.

 

“I’ll look forward to it,” Hannibal said at last. Will only nodded, reluctant to leave.  He forced himself out anyway, going to his car without another word.  He didn’t look back, but still felt Hannibal watch him from the doorway.

 

Will drove home the same way he’d arrived: overheated and unsure.   But there was something new, now.  Something to look forward to.

 

_The invitation will always be open._   It was promise of permanence.  Stability, maybe.  Will found it immensely comforting.  But with it came the excitement of possibility.  The many things he and Hannibal could become.

 

Will didn’t realize he was smiling until his face began to ache from it.  He reached over and switched off the radio.  For once, he was glad to let his mind lead him astray.


End file.
